Soulan is just under average size for a human, which makes him roughly the same physical build as a half elf. Standing short of five and a half feet tall (about 5'5") and slender, yet toned to perfection, granting him an unimposing size without lacking in physical prowess. His face is covered in marking he had since birth, looking almost like scars cutting down the sides of his face. He hides these marks under a low hanging hood and behind his apparently meek demeanour.

His true personality and the personna he hides behind in public are completely different. On the outside he puts on a facade of weakness and being timid. Inside he is a warrior caged by the events of his past, hoping that this self imposed exile, or sojourn if you will, might either redeem himself or atleast give him a reason to go on...a purpose in a seemingly purposeless existance. Above all else he is calm, collective, and not quick to make brash decisions. He is quiet, but that doesn't mean that he will not speak his mind if necessary. He does as he pleases without much thought of what others may think, leading majority of those who meet him think he just don't take other people into consideration, and maybe he doesn't. After all, his expectations of the capacity of gaining any understanding from these 'other people' was limited and unlikely at best. he relies on himself, but this does not make him a loner, it just makes him a little socially impared in most cases, which often leaves him alone even when he is surrounded by others.

When he was born, Soulan was immediately recognized for his appearance. Under both eyes were streaks which appear almost like tattoos, which his parents recognized immediately. He was born with the mark of the psion, an inherited imbalance in his blood which connected him to the psionic powers of an age long since forgotten. In this age, psionics were non-existant, but remnants of that ancient force lurks in the blood of its ancient practitioners. Both his mother and his father knew that should a certain secret cult should discover their child had been born with this mark he would be taken and his father sacrificed, since the imbalance was inherantly passed on from father to son. So they ran...

When Soulan was entering his twelfth winter, his father had built them a shelter in a cavern off set inside of a large hill, most likely the previous dwelling of some sort of dire badger, or possibly someother magical beast. They survived the winter with little hardships thanks to his father's mastery of wilderness survival techniques, being a ranger of the norther tundras in an earlier life. His mother was a simple woman, with skills of her own. She cleaned and cooked everything and anything his father managed to bring back from his excurssions into the wilds, with the skills of a magician. His mother would often entertain his ideas that she was some sort of magically endowed princess and that his father rescued her from the clutches of an evil emperor in the far east. She was able to see the future and she helped the emperor to expand his kingdom for 10 long years before Soulan's father came and emancipated her from her prison. The story always entranced him as a young child, but as he became older and wiser of the emotions and glances passing between his parents during the telling of these stories, he became aware that atleast a great deal of what she was saying may have been true. Such powerful love and devotion could not be hidden under meager facades for long. Soulan was a happy child, and knew nothing of true hardship, living based on his father's skills and his mother's love. Soon he would learn to forage and hunt like his father, so that one day he could provide the same skills for his own family one day, though in his youth he had every intention to use such skills to repay the efforts of his mother and father by taking care of them the same as they did him, for as long as he could.

All he ever learned was basic sword fighting techniques, which his father insisted on since he was strong enough to properly wield one. That time of simple exhange of love and respect which Soulan dreamed of was never meant to be...

One evening his father returned from his hunt early, which excited Soulan, and immediately worried his mother. He staggered in out of breath, limping, holding one side...and bleeding...At first Soulan had thought he was mauled by some sort fo tundra yeti like the ones his father told him of when he patrolled the northern exposure beyond the mountains. But this thought gave way to a more immanent threat as his father explained to his mother that men had found them. Some sort of cult, Thae'loc'de'sion, meaning the Hand of Psion, he later discovered. This was the only detail, aside from the revelation of his curse, that remained with him after that day. Everything else happened so fast...The explosions...the wistle of blades flying through the air...the roar of his father...the skreeching clash of steel against steel...His father being overwhelmed by cloaked figures...the blood...And then the light...his mother shouting phrases in a language he had never before heard, and immediately forgot as if every syllable was burned from his mind immediately after she spoke them...The cloaked figure fell beneath streakis of lightning from her finger tips, orbs of flame her hands, and bolts of white energy...But when one fell, two replaced it. She altered her offensive strategies to offer them a better chance to escape, but not before Soulan spotted a single figure walking through the center of their cavern, a blade appeared in his hand as if out of no where and he was going to reach her before she could gather herself. Soulan knew what was coming...but he couldn't let it. He stepped forward to intercept the assassin, without a weapon...or atleast so he believed. He managed to cross over the assassin's path and struck his blade with such force that it shattered into a thousand pieces. He had never seen a blade that thoroughly destroyed, and knew immediately that it was not a completely physical thing. Just as he knew that the blade which took form in his own hands, an impossibly large blade for a boy his size to wield, but still it remained there, as if demanding that he believed in its existance. Then flickered from view and was gone a moment later. The man was just as surprised as he was, but more so when he took note of the boy's birth marks...Then shock became amazement, and amazement gave way to rage as another blade appeared in his hand, but it was too late. Soulan's mother stepped in between them and released a massive bolt of lightning into the man's chest sending him flying out of the cave. Then she grabbed ahold of Soulan's shoulder and before he knew it he felt as if his insides were being sapped from his body as his surroundings seemed to rush past him. He closed his eyes hoping it would settle his stomach, but when he opened them he couldnt help but take note of the fact that those surroundings had changed. They were now standing on the lip overlooking a straight drop to the valley several thousand feet below them. Infront of them was a temple Soulan had not been familiar with. The monks immediately came out to his mother's aid but she collapsed soon after their arrival. Only able to tell the first monk who reached them to look after her son, before she died. It seems that several of the blades which he heard flying through the air, found her, leaving many puncture wounds, though no blades remained in her body as proof.

A few years later Soulan left the monestary with their blessings, and the provisions he would need to survive in the wild. He became a wanderer hoping that in his travels he some how found some purpose, some meaning to his otherwise miserable existance. But deep inside he hoped to hone his skills and one day face the man who murdered his parents...and kill him...No other opponent would matter as much to him as that one encounter...it was his only reason for living. But in the mean time experience was a necessity, he had to learn how to kill...he had to master his power. The one his parents hid him from, the one that the monks tried to teach him to leave in his past. He would have made a decent monk...but that was not his path. He had neither the time nor the inner peace of a monk. His life was chaos...his mind saturated in vengence. The blade was a necessity...

Name: Xalein
Race/Class: Half-Elf/Sorcerer(Sylvain wild bloodline)
Stat Block: CG, Str 10, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 7, Cha 18 (+2 racial bonus)
Description: Green eyes, brown hair in braid behind the back.
Background: Xalein comes from a human noble family. He is the son of the lord and his favorite mistress, an elf, and he is the heir, or would be if he was actually interested in politics. He is the heir mainly because he doesn't have any other siblings, as his father's wife could not bear children.
Ever since his young age, he would sneak outside to explore the forest, watching wild animals. He also stumbled few times on magical beasts. The first time, he was eight. A bear attacked him, but was fend off by a wolfdruid with his pack of wolves. But these wolves weren't normal. The pack was casted Awaken by the druid himself. As they lived in the forest for few days, Xalein would come often and play a lot with the puppies. Few year after, he stumbled of a pair of unicorns. He watched in fascination as they grazed. Just as he took back his breath, because he had forgotten to breathe, he scared the pair and they ran off.
It was about this time that strange phenomenon started to appear. Heat. Cold. Electricity charged air. Moving objects. Apparitions. It was after a while he discovered it was his own powers that was running wild. He that, he started to learn his own powers by himself in the forest, and learning Sylvan from his father's vast library. When he almost mastered the last cantrip, he stumbled on a lost and abandonned bear cub. It was so young he just couldn't abandon it. It would surely die in the few days. He decided to raise it. At first, he asked his father for help but he refused. Even if his father refused, he still raised it at the edge of the forest. After it finished growing up, Xalein decided to make to travel with it, so he make it his animal companion.
(the story lacks just a bit of the end but I can't make write a good story now)

Description: Sidryn is a young woman, that much is obvious, even if she will not admit to her true age. Rumors have her age varying from sixteen to twenty-five, but who puts complete faith in rumors? She is, at times, a firebrand of boisterous emotions, while at others she is the embers of brooding. Her brown eyes have hints of gold in them when the light strikes them, but nothing out of the ordinary or extraordinary. Her curled red-hair is a giveaway, along with the fact that she likes to wear reds and oranges to match.

Background: Sidryn was born Sidryn Estrael Windsong. Her mother was Raven Hallowood, a quiet and lovely daughter of farmers. Her father was the adventurous Lyrus Windsong, an elven 'archaeologist'. Raven, though a dutiful daughter, sought adventure, and when she was of a mature age, left her family's village for the big city. She was at a loss, and easy prey - thankfully the kindly Lyrus Windsong decided to be an escort and guide, rather than predator to such a lovely young woman. Though Raven had no obvious talents, her head for knowledge was nearly as great as Lyrus' and the two adventured together, and ended up, after retiring, starting a family.

Sidryn was their first child, named after Lyrus' Mother, and Raven's Grandmother, the red-headed child was born healthy, strong, and quite vocal. As Sidryn grew older, and Lyrus and Raven had three more children, the eldest child showed quite the protective streak over her younger siblings. She was helpful and kind, and far more adventurous and daring than even her mother and father had been - without the knack for knowledge that her parents displayed. Thus, Lyrus decided to teach her a few ... simpler skills, and enlisted an old friend of his from his adventuring days to train Sidryn in the ways of stealth and observation.

Kalen Maloch, a bear of a grizzled old dwarf, and still sworn to bachelorhood taught Sidryn what he knew of being a ranger - well, when he swung by for a visit. It wasn't much, but it was certainly the beginnings - enough so that Sidryn was confident enough, and her parents as well, that she traveled to town on errands on her own. After all, two retired archaeologists ... well, they had a modest manor almost half a day's journey from town.

This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for the idealized life that could be led, and a curse when the kobolds were angered into frenzy like a nest of hornets.

Tensions had been ... growing for a while, though Sidryn was unaware of the politics. It was only a matter of time until some idiot farmer did something to anger the kobolds, and the magistrates, of course, could not see trouble beyond the walls of their own cities. Something happened, a kidnapping, a counter-kidnapping, a slaughter on both sides ... and the dam broke.

Kobolds came flooding into the area. Sidryn was on her way home from town when she first saw the warning signs. When she heard the gibbering and rustling of an advancing kobold raiding party, she did the only thing she could think of ... climb the tallest tree in sight. Looking over the signs of travel on the road the kobolds continued on the way, never seeing Sidryn. So scared, the young woman was, she stayed in the tree for the rest of the day, into the evening, and thru the next day.

Satisfied that the kobolds had moved on, Sidryn hurried home, knowing her parents and siblings would be worried.

What she found was the burned ruins of her home - her family slaughtered, Lyrus and Raven fallen before the charred door of a closet where the three youngest were hiding. It was a masacre.

Sobbing and broken, Sidryn spent the night rolled up in a half-charred blanket on the floor of her ruined parents' bedroom. The next morning came, and Sidryn hollowly buried the remains of her family. Then, gathering what valuables she could find, that might be able to be sold, she fled.

Sidryn bought supplies in town, then traveled to a harbor on the coast. She didn't think of leaving a note for Kalen ... though now she regrets not doing so. She tried to find him several times, but the most she found was a whisper of a rumor about a mad dwarven ranger on a rampage against kobolds. Taking passage on a ship, and trying her hand, though poorly, set sail for somewhere else. ANYWHERE else.

copyright Siansonea @ http://atomicthinktank.com
And yes, I know it has someone else's name on it. I'm too lazy, atm, to clear that out. What can I say?

With his ragged clothes, unkempt hair and beard, and adornments made of small bones and polished stones, Fracko Rohm makes for a somewhat comical, if unpleasant-smelling, figure. He has taken to roaming the countryside, plying a modest trade as a healer and sometime-fortune teller, finding comfort in those villages that accept a stranger like him, and (all too often) fleeing from those that would burn him at the stake. Fracko is quick with a quip and happy to tell jokes or trade news over a flagon or five of ale, but he never divulges anything about his past before he took the road and began dabbling in the supernatural. When pressed, he becomes silent and sullen for a moment and then turns the conversation to lighter subjects. Of late, it seems like life on the road has begun to wear on him a bit and that perhaps it would be good to settle in a bit and have a warm stove and comfy bed to call his own. Of course, comfort costs gold, so Fracko is keeping his eyes open for remunerative opportunities of all sorts.

Lamére's hair and eyes are the colour of her watery home, years of sunlight having faded her once seaweed green hair to a teal closer to the sea. Her skin carries a dark tan after many years of being burnt by the sunlight, her people unaccustomed to so much direct light. Her tail fin is the same shade of green as her hair, speckled with silver and darker greens and blues.

Lamére has remodeled her Eidolon recently, where once it simply looked like a long-limbed tortoise, she has since come to model it after her favourite land mammal, the Dire Wolf.

Background: Lamére's father was a member of the Shell Military, the Merfolk elite, and trained his daughter to follow in his foot steps as a great warrior. Meanwhile, her mother trained her in her own art, Witchery. Lamére had a special knack for summoning magic, which led her to her own experiments. Lamére was seventeen when she created her first Eidolon, but she wanted more. She didn't want to just create something powerful, she thirsted for that power herself. It became an obsession.

Three years of hard work finally paid off when Lamére finally unlocked the secret of Synergy. In the end it had seemed simple, all she had to do was risk her own life, by summoning her Eidolon exactly where she stood, weaving its energies into her physical make up. With that task accomplished, Lamére set herself to the second mystery that plagued her. If her people could breath on land, why did they not extend their military endeavors their. She left the military and her home to start her own adventure on the dry land, hoping to learn new secrets and tactics to bring home, so one day her people can expand their control.